


seems like maybe it's not all that much a place

by Broskiro



Series: like Theseus's ship, we'll fix the busted bits [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: DAY TWO YALL, Dancing and Singing, Day Two: Dancing/Training, F/M, Five sings to Vanya as they dance, Fiveya Week, I Love Elvis Presley, I love this fandom holy crap, I present to you another part of the rewrite, I'll organize it later, Inspired by Elvis Presley songs, Just to be safe, Light Angst, Maybe - Freeform, Part Two, Pining, Pseudo-Incest, Song: Can't Help Falling in Love (Elvis Presley), again scattered because I'm following the prompts for Fiveya week, come get ya'll songfic, i guess, i love these two, they're both pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broskiro/pseuds/Broskiro
Summary: She is cut off, the sentence overshadowed by the slow beginning of a guitar, the sound pouring into her apartment. Their heads snap to the back wall, gazes meeting before Vanya rushes to explain, “My neighbor, Ms. Kowalski, she uh, plays music sometimes. The walls are, uh, thin.”Five hums, nodding, contemplating something in his head as he scans her. He looks so incredibly bored, and Vanya winces quietly, squeezing her brows as the tune continues to play. He sighs, shoving a bunched up rag into his pocket, before he holds out his hand, the corner of his mouth lifting, “Care to dance?”“To Elvis Presley?” She shifts on her feet, huffing out a small laugh in an attempt to joke, tugging her sleeves as she burns practical holes into his hand. They had danced as children, tucked away in the attic of the Academy, the room filled with the soft echoey tune of the record player. But that was years ago, nearly two decades ago, in fact, and they have long since forgotten the feel of each other.“To Elvis Presley.” He nods._________________________Dancing, just because.(Fiveya Week - Day Two - Dancing/Training)
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves
Series: like Theseus's ship, we'll fix the busted bits [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995817
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	seems like maybe it's not all that much a place

**Author's Note:**

> Or Alternatively Named: And I Can't Help Falling In Love With You
> 
> I love writing song fics, I just do. I love imagining characters dancing with each other, either swaying or jumping, in whatever serene or bubbly setting that the song gives off.

Five waits forty-five years, forced to really, but he still waits. Trapped in a barren wasteland, he waits, and he waits, _and he waits_ , scribbling down formulas and numbers, carrying ones and zeros as he tries to get back to her. 

He meets Delores somewhere along the way, picking her up and carrying her back to his hideout, struggling as his muscles burn from another long day of searching. She reminds him of Vanya, in a way. Quiet, but snarky when she wanted to be. A voice of reason too, and oh-so- _pretty_. Of all his siblings' bodies, he had never found Vanya’s, — Ben's missing corpse would be explained later on, but Vanya was simply.... _gone_. — And it is that part that keeps him sane, keeps him hoping as he walks around aimlessly, only one true goal in mind. 

It is Delores who helps him find her book. Vanya’s book, which resides in a building that barely stands, is already subjecting to the pressure that comes from mass destruction. It takes him a while to finally crack open the cover, but he rushes through it, clinging to her words, the only part of her that truly remains with him being sentences that border on sadness. 

She sounds so sad, so morbid, so _tired_ , and when Five reaches the part about him, he smiles, reminiscing; thinking of coming home to her after missions, of whispering in her ear and watching her eyes light up at his jokes, of listening to her play, her music fading to the back of his mind as he works on his equations. 

He reaches the end of it in mere hours, too focused on her book that he ignores Delores telling him that the sun has already set. Her picture is there; Vanya's, and instead of seeing a small girl with bangs, he sees a woman with hair that splits down the middle, falling just inches below her shoulders. It is then when reality finally settles in. She has grown, exceeding him in age by at least a decade. Vanya and the rest of them have lived their entire lives without him, and he was merely a boy trapped in time, considered reckless as he ran from his father's words. 

He sleeps, clinging her book to his chest as wind breezes past him, Delores in the corner. Five holds the book tight, squeezing it within an inch of his life, and as he dreams in the dead of the night, Five can almost swear that he feels warmth come from its pages, the same warmth that they used to share under thin covers. 

* * *

Five blinks into 2019, his body the same as he left. It is a small victory, one short-lived as he takes in the way his siblings tower over him, older than this body would allow. Vanya, though, Vanya remains tiny, and as he stares at her, he curses. She is old too, older than society would ever allow. He scoffs, walking inside, pushing down the hurt that comes with such thoughts. 

She pipes up when he asks for the date, and inside, he smirks, nodding. They exchange words a bit later, and Five tells her about her book, unable to fully express just how proud he is, just how sane it kept him, — how even now, he carries it with him, alongside a black ring, tucked away in a box in his pocket, too attached to her words of endearment and his own scribbled equations to ever get a new copy, — but happy with the words he chooses. She stumbles over whatever she says next, and they separate, readying for the funeral.

The event passes by him in a flash. Reginald could’ve died sooner, some voice in his brain whispers, and even then, as Luther pours the asshole's cremated ashes over a rotting patch of grass, even as Luther and Diego fight, his gaze is locked on her. On the way she breathes, the rhythm of her chest so very mesmerizing. On the way she stands, shifting every now and then as she subtly plays with her fingers. On the way her hair is tied back, mind wandering as he imagines pulling on her long locks, carving out her body as he bends her over. — He scowls at that last one, blinking back to reality. — He doesn’t have time for this, he announces, and seconds later, he is gone, the grunting of One and Two fading from his ears as he leaves. 

One thought stays in his mind as he goes. It isn’t him reading between the lines either, because Vanya was still Vanya, even if he was gone for seventeen years and missed out on everything she could have ever offered. — By the looks of it, Vanya didn’t get out much, and considering the way their siblings still treat her like shit, she didn’t have many chances to build relationships. Meaning that out of anyone, with maybe the exception of a dead Ben, Five still knew her the best. — _Vanya was still Vanya_ , with the same mannerisms and speech patterns and the same innocent beliefs, just in a different body. 

Five would read her, delicately, the same way he had her memoir, pour over her every page the same way he did when they were children, enchanted with the works of her, and this time, he’ll read the extra ones, the ones spanning over the course of seventeen years. Five could read her, with all the knowledge he’s already acquired. And he could tell one thing. 

She hasn’t moved on. Not yet, at least. And that is all he could ever ask for. 

* * *

Seventeen years. 

Vanya waits seventeen years for him. 

He blips into existence the day of their father’s funeral, wind whirring around them as blue splits the sky and a man comes flying through, quickly turning into a boy. 

They exchange quick words, before she rushes away, pushing down the disappointment that comes with him being a teenager. He says he isn’t though, that he is older than them all, but that isn’t what matters. He is home, and he is _wrong_ and they can no longer work.

She doesn’t wallow though, instead pushes down the part of her that aches. Her ring sits inside her shirt pocket, a reminder of a promise, for even now, after nearly two decades, she is too attached to separate from it. 

Vanya waits seventeen years for a boy with the ability to manipulate space-time, bend it to his whim, shove it on its knees, but even then, it isn’t enough for him to return to her fully. 

* * *

Instead, she finds him in her apartment, hours later as she stumbles in, exhausted as she pushes the door open. The lamp near the counter flickers, startling her as she jumps, and Vanya cries, “Jesus!” 

He pays no mind to her surprise though, simply sitting there as he peers at her. “You should have locks on your windows.”

She scoffs, setting down her keys. Seventeen years she doesn’t see him, and he’s _still_ a control freak. “I live on the second floor.”

He grumbles, lifting his chin. “Rapists can climb.”

The lamp offers a small source of light, one just bright enough that she can see him, and in that light, his eyes shine a serious blue. He is exactly the same as he left, but not. She stares, raising a brow before she goes to shut the door behind her. “You are so weird.”

She sits, only to notice the blood on his collar, before she is shooting up again, pride swelling in her as he tells her she is the only one he can trust, that she’ll listen, and she drowns in the praise, rejecting the way he had called her ordinary. They had been the best of friends, confidantes, to each other, before he stormed off, confining himself to a fate that landed him here through a rip in the sky years later. 

Her mind races as she grabs the disinfectant in the bathroom cabinet. He was _here_ and he was _home_ and he was _wrong_. He was wrong and she shouldn’t be having thoughts about him like she was, for he was merely a child when he left, and though his consciousness was decades older, his body wasn’t. She sits before him, banishing the voice that curses him out, canceling away the part of her that agrees, and instead inhales sharply as she takes in his injury, making quick work out of his arm. 

He stares at her, looking straight through her, it seems, before he speaks, voice hanging in the air. “When I jumped forward and got stuck in the future, do you know what I found?”

“No.” She swallows, chastising herself for being so quick and eager to respond. 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” And at such a cold, broken tone, she is forced to look up, just barely finished with bandaging his wound. His eyes are distant, lost to somewhere else as he avoids her gaze, “As far as I could tell, I was the last person left alive. I never figured out what killed the human race, but, I did find something else. The date it happens.”

He brings his gaze down to her, green-blue clashing with confused russet, and Vanya’s heart lurches, scared for what he has to say next. “The world ends in eight days, and I have no idea how to stop it.”

She gasps quietly, heart pounding so loud in her own ears she’s sure Five can hear it from across her. He blinks, staring just as she, something dark in his eyes as he runs over her figure, and her eyes dart from the floor to him, careful as she speaks her next words. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

* * *

Vanya makes coffee good enough that Five drinks it. He watches her the entire time, muttering out what he prefers to drink with it, which turns out, is nothing. But still, Vanya looks happy as he takes a sip, the corner of her lips lifting at the way he sighs when he swallows, content. He holds the mug of dark roasted in both hands, hunched over as he tells her of the future, and she listens, eager. 

The back of his mind jumps up, producing thoughts that intrude his forefront, thoughts of pushing her down and taking her and kissing her and _apologizing_. He rejects all of them, — for he has screwed up the chance for them both, and there’s no way of telling just how Vanya would respond. With the information he has already given, her brain must be scattered— pushing out words of explanation instead. 

He had done whatever it had taken to survive, to come back to her, and he tells her this, in strung along sentences, the implications just beyond her view. She perks up at the mentions of Delores, just as she had back at the Academy hours earlier, confusion coating her eyes, and Five wants to almost laugh, finding it funny how easy she is to read. 

Instead, he shakes his mug, smirking as he asks for something stronger. 

* * *

She pours him a glass of wine, the only thing she has at her apartment, and watches as he downs it, hungry as he pulls the cup away from pink lips. He catches her gaze, scanning her face as he huffs out a laugh, “You think I’m crazy.”

“No,” She stammers, eyes shifting to the floor and then back to him, “it’s… It’s a lot to take in.” 

“Exactly what don’t you understand?” Five snaps, and Vanya steps back a little, cautious.

“Why didn't you time travel back?” She breathes, cursing at herself for indulging, but she just has to know. She had told him not to, had shaken her head in disapproval at the dinner table all those years ago. She had begged him to stay, had waited for him until the sun rose with the lights on, praying that one day, he’d teleport back to her, into her arms, so why hadn’t he come home? Why had he let her rot in that house all alone? Left her waiting under a tree, watching as the leaves died and regrew as the years pass by. 

“Gee, I wish I’d thought of that.” He scoffs, turning away from her with a click of his tongue. Tension rises as he stands inches away, filling the air and Vanya just needs to _breathe_ , “Time travel is a crapshoot. I went into the ice and never acorned.” 

He takes one last look at her, the corner of his eyes tightening, “You think I didn’t try everything to get back to my family?”

Vanya swallows, licking her lips — she tries to ignore the way Five’s eyes trace the movement —, “If you grew old there, in the apocalypse, how come you still look like a kid?”

“I told you already.” He pushes past her, grabbing the bottle of wine settled on the counter. His back is turned towards her, smaller compared to when they were kids, when she would hug him from behind and feel as though she was tasked with carrying the entire world. He snarls out some words, words she doesn’t care for, and she wonders, pondering if he recognized that he had doomed them both, “I must have gotten the equations wrong.”

“I mean, Dad always used to say time travel could mess up your mind.” She clears her throat, leaning against the table as she blinks back to reality. They weren’t kids anymore, were practically strangers after seventeen years, “Maybe that’s what’s happening?”

Five slams down his glass, and Vanya knows it was the wrong thing to say. He’s walking away, rattling off something about how she’s too young, that she wouldn’t understand, and she is calling for him, raising her voice in a way she’s never heard, desperate. 

It gets him to pause though, and he turns, searching her with a cocked brow. Vanya swallows, deciding that for him, she would pour her heart out, laying it before him with everything she has to offer, “I haven’t seen you in a long time, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

“That's all?” He frowns, meanwhile Vanya finds her cheeks burning just a little brighter. 

She nods, pushing down the heat, wondering why he sounds so hurt, ring beginning to burn in her shirt pocket before she’s starting back up again, “It’s getting late, and I have lessons early. I need the sleep, and I’m sure you do too.”

“Okay.” He agrees, shutting his eyes. 

Vanya nods, almost frantic as she rushes past him. She gathers a blanket, fluffing out a pillow and laying it down, “We’ll talk in the morn-”

She is cut off, the sentence overshadowed by the slow beginning of a guitar, the sound pouring into her apartment. Their heads snap to the back wall, gazes meeting before Vanya rushes to explain, “My neighbor, Ms. Kowalski, she uh, plays music sometimes. The walls are, uh, thin.”

Five hums, nodding, contemplating something in his head as he scans her. He looks so incredibly bored, and Vanya winces quietly, squeezing her brows as the tune continues to play. He sighs, shoving a bunched up rag into his pocket, before he holds out his hand, the corner of his mouth lifting, “Care to dance?”

“To Elvis Presley?” She shifts on her feet, huffing out a small laugh in an attempt to joke, tugging her sleeves as she burns practical holes into his hand. They had danced as children, tucked away in the attic of the Academy, the room filled with the soft echoey tune of the record player. But that was years ago, nearly two decades ago, in fact, and they have long since forgotten the feel of each other. 

“To Elvis Presley.” He nods. 

* * *

She takes his hand, and he guides her, moving to the empty space near the window as words fill the air, soft and sweet as they sway. His hands are wrapped around her, settled on his waist as her arms come up to sit on his shoulder, hands interlocking from behind his head. They dance, in tune with the music as the world fades around them, Elvis Presley’s sweet words filling their ears in this small dim corner of her apartment. 

_“Wise men say,_

_Only fools rush in._

_But I can't help falling in love with you.”_

The song echoes throughout her apartment, flooding into her walls from Ms. Kowalski’s radio, and Vanya shuts her eyes, reveling in the content feeling that builds in her chest. Five stares, tracing the lines of her face, basking in her, in her beauty, in her feel, in her presence. _God, he hasn’t heard this song in ages_ , mind trailing back to the days Allison would prattle on about the hit sensation Elvis Presley used to be. Something swims in him, and soon, he is joining in, whispering the words, mouthing them as he sways with Vanya, resting his hands on her petite body. 

_“Shall I stay?_

_Would it be a sin,_

_If I can't help falling in love with you?"_

Vanya’s eyes snap open, frantically searching his own, only to find gratification floating in his gaze. Suddenly, she is blushing, her cheeks on fire as he sings, practically serenading her. She sees him, for the first time, subconscious traveling back to when they’d listen to these same songs as children in the confinements of her room, the moonlight their only guide, and realizes, truly, that this is Five, her favorite person, the one she had sworn to always be with. Her hands are burning, and she panics, sweating under his soft regard. 

She shuts her eyes again, face glowing red as he lets out a chuckle. He is handsome, she hates to admit, and she can’t stand to see him any longer. 

_“Like a river flows,_

_Surely to the sea._

_Darling, so it goes,_

_Some things are meant to be.”_

He sings, his voice deep and sure, mixing with Elvis' as he laughs, huffing as she grumbles. He knows exactly what she’s thinking, he always did, and he couldn’t be happier. The apocalypse looms, but here, in this space, with her, he sings, rocking to the sound of the music. She glows, positively bright, embarrassed, he knows, and he wants to kiss her, pull her close and drown in her. He doesn’t, opting instead to twirl her around, lifting his arm as he creates a bridge. She yelps, reluctantly spinning, before laughter falls from her lips, giggling as russet meets green-blue, and _god, she’s fucking everything_. 

His chest is tight as the words ring true. 

_“Take my hand,_

_Take my whole life too._

_For I can't help, falling in love with you.”_

He would give the world for her, watching her shoulders loosen as she pulls him closer, layering her wrists behind his head. There is little space between them, their faces just inches away from touching as they lock eyes, understanding passing between them. This exchange was only meant for them, hidden away behind closed doors, and together they sway, shifting side to side slowly, lost in the moment. 

_“Like a river flows,_

_Surely to the sea._

_Darling, so it goes,_

_Some things were meant to be.”_

Her hair falls from its band, falling around her shoulders, and Vanya grins, laughing at the mess she believes herself to be, clueless to the way Five marvels, heart fluttering at her elegance. _She’s ethereal_ , says the voice that always wants to argue, and tonight, for the first time in almost nearly fifty years, Five makes no arguments with that voice, having no qualms with the statement. _It’s right_ , he finds, because she’s so stunning that he stops breathing, words caught in his throat as Elvis continues on. 

His face is on fire, heating as his brows furrow, his heart pumping erratically, and Five ducks his head, bending to situate his warming face between her neck and shoulder. She stumbles, wailing at the way Five pulls her so close they're hugging. Their bodies are practically one, not a single speck of space between them, and Vanya's jumping as he wraps his arms around her waist tightly. 

_“Take my hand,_

_Take my whole life too._

_For I can't help, falling in love with you.”_

He is no longer singing, instead drowning in her presence. They rock to the music, a task quite difficult with how tightly Five grasps her, holding onto the soft incline of her back.

He has waited forty-five years for this, to be able to hold her once more, and now that he has it, he is desperate, clinging to her as he breathes her in. He whispers the words into her soft, ghostly pale skin, words he knows she can’t hear, words he knows he’ll have to try his hardest to receive back. 

Vanya chuckles, patting him on the back, more confused than afraid. He sinks deeper into the space between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling his face closer, ignoring the extra heat that rises to her cheeks as he does so. She has waited seventeen years to see him again, and though it’s bittersweet, — the fact that they can no longer be together, for he has allowed for such a fate to slip between his grasp, — she smiles, grinning up to the white cracks of her ceiling. 

_“For I can't help falling in love with you”_

And as the song prattles off to a close, Elvis Presley drags his voice as the chorus joins in, the soft strumming of a bass guitar fading into the background as they hold the notes. The two stay there, rocking in the quiet that surrounds them as the song ends. 

Five pulls away, sighing as Vanya smiles up at him, her brow creasing as she meets his gaze. He clears his throat, hands brushing against her hips, before he trails his calloused fingers over her body, hands coming around to cup her neck. 

She stares, studying him, and her mind races, thoughts of how easily either of them could lean in and their lips would touch and she’d be complete, _they’d_ be complete, tucked away in the small expanses of her apartment, waiting out the end of the world. 

Five does nothing of the sort, rubbing her cheeks with the rough of his thumb as the rest of his digits circle around her neck. She sighs, leaning into him. _This is wrong,_ she knows, and yet, she indulges, sinking deeper into his touch. 

He looks trapped, unable to speak, before he swallows, shaking her gently, “Wait for me.”

“Hm?” She hums, confused as the small words escape him. He spoke so quietly she wondered if he even spoke at all. 

Five though, in a bout of misunderstanding, turns desperate, his face scrunching, confused and pained as he studies her. “Please.” He shakes, dropping his head, concealing his face from her view, begging in a way Vanya had never seen, not even when they were children.

He shakes, desperate, voice high pitched as he reduces himself to a mess in front of her. His eyes prickle with something wet, — tears, he finds — and Five curses. Vanya is baffled into silence, concerned as she watches her best friend hide from her, puzzled as to what she should do. 

“Wait for me, please.” He reiterates, voice shaky as he gulps, lifting his head to reveal nervous eyes. And instantly, she knows what he means. It clicks, and Vanya nods to reassure him, observing the way a small part of him loosens, a tiny light shining in the back of his orbs.

“Okay.” She breathes, grinning.

“Okay.” He exhales, voice soft, and in the silence of her apartment, her world spins on its head, suddenly seeming a little brighter. Another song starts up, one they both recognize, and as Paul Anka’s deep voice echoes throughout the walls, his words filling their ears, they connect hands, Vanya’s right clasped in Five’s left, vertical to the way his is horizontal, and together, they sway, lost in the music. 

* * *

Vanya will wait eight more days, — seven if you count the way the short clock hand extends past twelve, — and for now, that is enough for the both of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Elvis Presley's Can't Help Falling In Love With You will always be in my top ten songs, it's great. Really, I had some much fun writing this one. 
> 
> But, yeah, that concludes day two of Fiveya week! I hope you enjoyed this, thanks again for reading, it really means so much to me. Don't be afraid to comment, I really enjoy feedback. And, uh, have a great day. 
> 
> Peace! ✌️


End file.
